Enemy of the State
by Courting Chaos
Summary: Stolen by alchemy and ripped from everything she holds dear, one girl plots revenge. Will she scheme her way to the top or try to take the entire country down? Probably, after all, she has nothing to lose.


So this was mostly the result of not wanting to go to sleep by myself and writing to keep myself awake. This isn't beta-ed. Sorry guys. If anyone believes this is actually good and wants to beta just hit me up. This story is going to focus on Allison which is an OC from our world. I know, I know. Stories like that are rarely super good. I'm hoping this will be an exception. I've put in things that usually don't happen in those kinds of stories in here. Fullmetal alchemist doesn't belong to me. So without further ado:

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Three months was a long time to be angry. And yet, she could still gather her rage in a second. It was still below the surface. The bitterness could turn to anger like it was still fresh. Like it happened yesterday. If anything she had grown angrier over time. She had been confused at first. She had had hope at first.

Yes, Allison Wilson was pissed.

 **Three Months Earlier**

The worst kind of nightmares start as dreams that are close to your life. Monsters in wonderland might be scary, but it doesn't stick with you the way that a man trying to hurt you does. You wake up ready to fight or flee but really you are frozen. Afraid of the dark again. Afraid of the next room. Afraid of the space behind you even though you are nestled into a soft mattress. Nightmares never hurt you, but they will keep you on guard the rest of the day.

Allison Wilson's nightmare started as the sun was setting on what had been an ordinary day. Get up. Go to work. Try not to kill the coworkers. Go home and relax. It was as she sunk into the comfort of her favorite chair that her nightmare began. Blue light crackling. Then white. And then wonderland. Only this time the monsters could hurt her.

She didn't wake up on her mattress; she woke in the center of a room. An array fanned out from all around her. She sat up, and she was frozen, terrified. The devil was grinning at her. Next to him blood was pooling on the concert floor obscuring the chalk marks. She had never seen that much blood. A chill went up her spine and she noticed that her sweats and tee was gone. Every bit of clothing that had been on her was gone.

The devil talked. Allison couldn't understand him. The devil talked. She couldn't place the language. The devil talked. His hands were gesturing—palms up and placating—trying to calm her the way one would try to calm an animal. The devil took a step forward. A glance behind her showed her there was no way out but the door that was behind the devil. Allison took a step back. The devil took a step forward. His left boot fell into the blood. The devil took a step forward. The door behind the devil crashed and blue uniforms rushed in. Shouts and the devil was surrounded and cuffed. Shouts and then she was being grabbed. The shouts made as much sense as the devil's talk.

A blue jacket from one of the larger blond men is given to her and Allison tries to cover as much of her body with it. A woman in blue directs what she assumes are questions at her in the Devil's language. After five minutes a set of cuffs are produced. They let her have her wrists in front of her and leave them fairly loose when she starts to tear up and shake.

"Allison Wilson. Allison Wilson." She repeats it slowly to the woman while gesturing at herself the best she can.

"Riza. Riza Hawkeye"

Allison lets herself be led up the stairs. She had been in a basement. Someone drapes a blanket over her and she is thankful that it covers her legs better than the fitted blue jacket. She decides that the man with dark hair must be the one in charge from the sound of authority in his voice.

A boy in a red coat slips into the room from the staircase. It is about three minutes into his argument with the man with dark hair that Allison realizes who he is. Edward Elric and company had decided to invade her nightmare. What a strange wonderland.

Nightmares with monsters in wonderland aren't that scary. Unless wonderland becomes your reality.

 **Present**

Allison starts on her book. It has pictures. It uses the same alphabet. Every day she is thankful that the language—Amestiran—uses the same alphabet. Even if it does have some strange accents that she can't seem to get right. She reads the book out loud slowly, carefully. The guard James had given it to her earlier, and she would read it back to him when he left. James had a young kid whose books she borrowed.

Allison Wilson was pissed, because having to learn a new language because no one has ever heard of yours is exhausting.

That was just the language. That didn't even begin to cover the cultural differences. Or the major world differences. She had almost fainted the first time she saw a map.

None of those even mattered, really. Allison Wilson was too busy being kept as a prisoner and as an experiment. Poked. Prodded. Allison understood their interest. They thought that she might be a homunculus. That word she understood. They thought that the devil—she was pretty sure he was a state alchemist (or had been)—had successfully performed human transmutation. Before his lab tech had died and his blood had pooled and obscured part of the array.

Allison itched at her arm where she had received more shots yesterday. She was reasonably sure that they were vaccines. They had given a first round of shots a two months ago, after a simple cold had almost killed her. That was probably a stretch, but she felt like she was going to die. In addition to not speaking any of the language, she had shit immunity to most diseases in Amestris.

Allison Wilson was pissed and frustrated and growing quite bitter.

How does one explain the complex concept that she is a dimensional traveler with the vocabulary of a toddler.

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Do authors still say to read and review?


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